I arrived late yesterday to see the Black Angels play along side the likes of The Warlocks, The Silver Apples, and The Gaslamp Killer. It was a small venue and outside. I was in time to see thirty seconds of the Black Angels play and this was because I was tired from work and laid my head down too long. Also the internet told me it was one hour after it was. Needless to say I was somewhat angry when I realized I missed something I had been looking forward to for some time.
Regardless I was in good spirits. The Warlocks went on and blew the roof down. The crowd was all in great nature and everyone spoke to one another kindly. Some wore three dimensional viewing glasses and looked insane and others stood against the wall with me and smoked cigarettes.
I talked to one girl who sat next to the t-shirts and asked her who was the strange man with the drums and the guitar who just came down like a lightning bolt one man band and rocked the shit out of it. She didn't know. We didn't know. But her boyfriend was the DJ later that night. She was sweet as all hell but I figured she had a gun so I walked back to the wall and smoked a cigarette.
I talked to a woman who stood next to me about her weekend at the rock and roll festival. She told me it was great but she was tired of all the fun. I told her I arrived late and that my brain had collapsed in on itself on the way to the show. It was why I didn't have a lot to say I think. She was kind and smoked cigarettes listlessly with me and listened to what little I had to say with out much regard for the measure of my density.
On stage the Silver Apples came on and as it turns out the Silver Apples is one mad scientist who makes things happen and is most happy with things that are analog. Most notably happy with our applause and appreciation for what he created.
The moon was a fist in the sky above the whole noise scene and it pressed against its moon-black fabric air firmly. The noise scene raged on with little ideas and conversations circulating like telephone wires. I shouldn't think anything of myself for sharing a stair well with a rock star and it does equal zero in chants but above the stairs and on the green grass where the stairs stopped played the one man band like a religious villain stealing the night for us all.
The rock star enjoyed it and so did I. I think there is a man who influenced me and inspired me days on end and I have nothing at all to say to him. I only saw thirty seconds of your show and it really pissed me off is all I could come up with. I held my peace and watched as the one man band held his drum stick towards the moon's face and howled and we all understood more or less what was happening but maybe not what was happening inside of us.
I went back inside and bought a lone star. It was cold and the bartender looked like an asshole. He threw my change at me and I did not tip. I convicted him for the crime of being an asshole but decided to not settle his entire existence into one level of understanding.
As the DJ played and his pretty girlfriend bobbed her head I stood there with my arms crossed and enjoyed it. The crowd was in full craze now and it was beautiful with people dancing dances from the 1950s I yearned for a perception of the past as now and the future as limitless as this so when I watch old photos I don't get scared of my future. It works in some logic that may be out of bounds.
Being tired from work and the long drawn out weekend spent with demanding ghosts I decided to make the trek back home. I threw away my beer and my last cigarette and began to drive home. The neighborhoods were quiet and everyone around was lost and so was I.
In the background of my drive I heard the concert noise spread through the city. As I reached further out of the city the noise dissipated of course. I reasoned that the people all who had built the buildings so close together didn't consider that some people may want to listen to concerts on the drive home. I imagine the concert of noise being filtered into a tube that harnesses the frequencies to shoot them across the city and sprinkle them across the fields of the country side. I sit on top of my barn and smoke a cigarette and listen to this noise and the grains of wheat speak. In hours the moon will sink into blue and the sun's fiery rage will make all things possible again.